by Terry Toler
I let her have it.
Bae rifled through the satchel. A few seconds later, she pulled her hand out. In it was a flash drive. My heart skipped a beat. This was even better than the papers.
“This was in there,” she said.
I reached for it. Bae pulled her arm back.
That flash drive contained the nuclear codes and passwords. I was sure of it. If I had to overpower Bae and take it from her I would.
“Bae, I need to look at that,” I said firmly. “It’s important. I need to know what’s on there.”
She handed it to me reluctantly.
“Bae you have to trust me. Do you know what this is?”
She shook her head no. I suddenly remembered that the best approach with Bae was to include her. Mentor her. I went back into teaching mode.
“This is called a USB flash drive,” I explained. “It stores data. These have been around forever.”
“I thought it was called a thumb drive,” Bae said.
“You can call it that. Or a flash drive.”
Bae’s eyes immediately beamed as her body language changed entirely.
I pointed to the end of the flash drive. “Do you see that?”
She nodded yes.
“That goes right in here,” I said, as I inserted the drive into the laptop. I turned the computer so it faced her, and she could see what I was doing. The drive contained sensitive information, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt for her to see it. She’d have no idea what it meant.
I did some more typing. The screen barely kept up.
“You type fast,” Bae said.
“I’m looking for the files on the flash drive. Right here.” I pointed to the screen, focused totally on the task at hand. “That’s the drive. Now, I’m going to open it.” Before I did, I made sure it didn’t have any viruses or any self-destruction mechanisms built in.
I could sense the excitement in Bae as the computer began spinning to open the drive. She was almost as excited as I was. If this contained the nuclear codes, then this was valuable information. It had better be. I risked my life to get it.
Immediately, hundreds of files began appearing on the screen. I started typing with a flurry.
“What are you doing?” Bae asked.
I ignored her, so I could concentrate fully. When I confirmed that the files did indeed contain the codes, I reached out with my hand and held it high. “High five,” I said when Bae didn’t immediately respond.
She hit my hand with hers and a loud smack reverberated in the car.
“What are we high fiving about?” Bae asked.
“You have no idea how important this information is. You did good, Bae. Really good.”
Her eyes told me she had no idea what I was talking about, but the rest of her face beamed with pride.
“So, what does this mean?” Bae asked.
“It means we don’t have to go to South Korea. Not yet, anyway.” This would save me valuable time. We could go straight to the cyber lab. I could hack into Pok’s phone from this computer if I could get close enough to intercept his wireless signal.
“Where are we going?” Bae asked.
“To pay a visit to someone I know.”
“Who?”
“Someone who is going to be very surprised to see me.”
32
Korean Airbus A380
Somewhere Over the Baltic Sea
The first thing Jamie did once she found her seat in business class was go into the restroom to change clothes. In her bag were three sets of outfits that gave her three different looks. She chose business professional.
When she arrived in Seoul, Korea, she intended to follow the Iranians. The problem was that they had seen her in Frankfurt. Even though she was certain they hadn’t marked her as anything more than an American tourist traveling to Korea, they did see her enough for her appearance to register in their minds if they saw her again. When operatives see the “same person, different place,” it sends an immediate red flag that they may be under surveillance.
Especially when the person was out of place. Jamie suspected that the two Iranians would catch a connection to North Korea. The American tourist they had seen in the boarding area in Frankfurt would not be making a connection to North Korea. She didn’t intend for them to see her surveilling them, but if they did, she didn’t want them to recognize her as the same person they saw in Frankfurt. That would raise all kinds of alarms and force a confrontation she wasn’t yet ready to have.
She removed the Cubs hat along with the band holding her ponytail in place. Her sandy blonde hair was long, well below her shoulders, and she ran her fingers through it and shook it out to smooth some of the tangles.
The baggy cargo pants were comfortable, but she slipped them off and put on a pair of faux-leather moto dressy black leggings that stopped slightly above her ankles. For these purposes, the leggings were better. They were comfortable for traveling, gave her the look of a business professional, and were also easy to run in, if necessary. They also allowed for enough flexibility to execute leg kicks, which Jamie assumed would be necessary if there was a confrontation with the Iranians.
Something she was determined to avoid. The last thing she needed was to create an international incident in the Korean airport when she was supposed to be back home in D.C.
Jamie slipped the white tee shirt over her head and donned a blue inverted-pleated V neck silk blouse that hung loosely just below her waist. In surveillance, she avoided bright colors. Blue, white, and black were the preferred choices for blending into the environment and not being noticed.
While also dressy, the shirt allowed freedom of movement in her upper body, and the silk made it difficult for an assailant to get a grip on her. Alex played football in college and said that they soaked their jerseys in water before a game to make them slippery for the defenders. They also applied double tape to the shoulder pads which acted like glue, making the jersey nearly impossible to latch on to.
Same principle. That gave her the idea to wear leggings and satiny shirts whenever faced with a possible confrontation. It probably didn’t make that much difference, but even the slightest advantage could mean the difference between life or death.
The thought of Alex temporarily sent a warm feeling through her heart.
The sneakers were put away in her backpack for sleek, black, heeled leather boots with an empowering platform sole that rose to just above her ankle. These weren’t as good for either fleeing or chasing but were a lethal weapon when a properly executed leg kick hit a vulnerable part of a man’s body. The heel loop and elasticated gusset made for easy on and off access, so she could discard them if she had to run away.
Jamie applied a minimum amount of makeup and fixed her hair. She accessorized the look with a cross necklace but skipped the matching earrings. In a struggle, an assailant could do significant damage by grabbing hold of them and jerking them off her ears. Her hair covered them anyway, so they didn’t add anything to the look.
One final examination in the mirror, and Jamie was satisfied that she wouldn’t be recognized. She also looked more like a person traveling in business class. Jamie returned to her seat where she began to analyze the situation and think through a plan.
Analysis wasn’t Jamie’s strong suit. In fact, it was her worst skill as a CIA officer. Alex was great at it. That came from his computer-like, analytical mind, perfectly suited for processing information and data. Jamie preferred to fly by the seat of her pants and trust her instincts. In the fog of the moment, when bullets were flying, Jamie was as good as there was at reacting and making split-second decisions. When it came to plotting a strategy and breaking down information, Jamie hated it with a passion and only did it when necessary.
Like now. It was necessary. She had to figure out what was going on with Alex and what she was walking into, which the Iranians made more complicated. The only thing that worked for her was to break the information down to its simplest form.
&nbs
p; So, to keep from giving herself a headache, Jamie simply sat in her seat, closed her eyes, and replayed the Iranian’s conversation in her head.
There’s an American spy on the loose in North Korea, the Iranian had said. She remembered that he read an email from his director. Probably MOIS.
That had to be Alex. Who else could it be?
Curly always said there were no coincidences in life. Don’t overthink it. Just go with the obvious. That was an advantage of not being a good analyst. Jamie wasn’t capable of overthinking it. Alex, on the other hand, drove her crazy. He couldn’t even buy a car without researching every make and model on the planet.
Big guy. His name is Alex. He shouldn’t be hard to find. The Iranian had been specific.
“It’s Alex. He’s in North Korea. Move on,” Jamie whispered under her breath. The Iranian just confirmed what she already knew.
He killed three of our men.
Good for him.
That sounded like something Alex was capable of doing. Not very many people in the world had the skill to kill three Iranian National Guardsmen. More confirmation.
What are we supposed to do when we find him? One of the Iranians asked the other that question.
Kill him.
Jamie shuddered. Alex was in danger. She wanted to eliminate the threat herself. That didn’t make sense for her to do, though. Alex killed the other three and could handle these two as well.
The American is with the girl. She stole the satchel.
That’s when the analysis came to a screeching halt in her mind. She couldn’t process what that meant. Jamie tried to put the emotions and the jealousy aside, but it was hard to do. Just thinking about it caused her breath to quicken and droplets of sweat to form on her forehead.
She tried to calm her fears.
Love always trusts.
The Bible verse kept coming to mind, trying to bring peace to her soul. She needed to give Alex the benefit of the doubt until she knew differently. Breaking the analysis down to its simplest form, Alex had never given her any reason to doubt his faithfulness. He was as strong a Christian as she was. Stronger in some ways.
Not that Alex was perfect. And he was good looking, tall, and muscular, and they were apart for months at a time. What man wasn’t capable of falling into temptation? The emotions played tricks on Jamie’s mind and were causing confusion, so she decided to get out of her seat and stretch her legs.
The Airbus 380 was the largest passenger jet in the world she had read, so she decided to explore it and give her mind a break from the analysis. She’d read that there was a gift shop on board and a Celestial bar which everyone raved about. Jamie opted for the bar which was on the upper deck.
It felt weird to walk up a staircase on an airplane. It took a second to get her balance. At the top of the stairs, she realized it wasn’t so much a bar but a small lounge. Her expectations had far outpaced what she found. For some reason, she had pictured a nightclub with strobe lights and mirrors on the wall and music blaring.
Instead, what she found was one small table with seating for two, a lounge chair for one, and a teal cushioned bench along the wall that would hold three people, but not comfortably. The bar itself was L-shaped and actually only about three feet long and about four feet high, with a countertop about fourteen inches wide. A shelf had about a dozen opened and unopened liquor bottles.
They were obviously going for a “Jetson’s” type look, with yellow lights on the wall, track lighting on the ceiling, and a futuristic shape and design. Luxurious for sure. Unlike anything she’d ever seen before on a plane. Jamie probably would’ve been in awe of the room had her expectations not been so high.
A lone, male flight attendant was standing behind the bar. He was approximately thirty years old, Korean, wearing a brown standard-issue Korean Air pants, short sleeved matching collared shirt, and red tie. He seemed bored until Jamie walked into the room, and his whole demeanor changed. A smile erupted on his face like he’d just been told he had won the lottery.
Jamie glanced over at the mirror. She did look rather good. Even then, his reaction was overstated, so she decided that was his job. He was probably that way with all the customers.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asked in an American accent.
“What do you have?” Jamie asked, walking over to the bar.
He placed a piece of paper in front of her that had a list of drink options.
Jamie studied the list of wines, cocktails, and hard drinks. The lounge was sponsored by Absolut Vodka, so they had more vodka drinks than anything else.
“I’ll have mineral water,” Jamie finally said.
“Whoa!” he said, putting both hands in the air. “Don’t you think it’s a little early for the hard stuff?” he said jokingly.
“I don’t drink,” she said, willing to give him a slight grin. That wasn’t entirely true. She did drink occasionally. On this occasion, Jamie actually considered ordering a glass of wine. It might calm her and settle her emotions. It would also make her sleepy. She had too much work to do before landing. Even though the flight was ten hours, she didn’t want to be on the ground without a plan.
“Let me make you my special drink,” he said. “It’s famous on five continents.”
Jamie hesitated before finally agreeing. The attendant turned his back to her and started mixing a drink. Jamie saw at least three different shots go into the glass. She needed to be careful. The last thing she wanted was to get a buzz that impaired her ability to think clearly.
The bartender poured his concoction into a metal shaker and turned back toward her with a huge smile on his face. He raised the shaker in the air and moved his arms back and forth assertively, shaking the mixture so hard she could hear the liquid clanging against the sides. The muscles in his arms bulged into perfect definition as he did it.
He set a glass in front of her and poured the lime-green mixture with a tint of orange color into it. After putting a thin, red straw into it, he propped his elbows on the bar and leaned in, waiting for her to try it.
Jamie took one sip and then let out an affirming moan. An explosion of flavor burst into her mouth as the ice-cold liquid soothed what she hadn’t realized was her parched throat.
“Mmm. . . That’s good,” Jamie said, as her upper body shuddered, immediately feeling the effects of the alcohol.
“I call it the Ricky. That’s my name,” he said, raising back up and leaning on the back counter with his arms folded in obvious satisfaction at his handiwork.
Jamie had never heard of a Korean named Ricky.
Her face must’ve given her away because he said, “Ricky is actually a common name in Korea. Most of the time it’s spelled R-I-K-K-Y. Mine is spelled the American way. My mom loved the show I Love Lucy. She named me Ricky after the boy. She called me Little Ricky all the time. Still does.”
Jamie noticed that when Ricky smiled, he had cute dimples. She took another drink. She needed to slow down and nurse the drink and get her attention off the man.
An awkward silence pursued as she kept her head down and stared at the drink, not wanting to make eye contact with him. He was good looking and charming. She didn’t have time for that, even though his tone and manner were flattering.
“Boyfriend troubles?” Ricky asked.
Jamie sat straight up on the stool, not sure what to make of such an inappropriate question. After thinking about it for a couple seconds, she decided not to be offended. She did have boyfriend troubles.
“Is it that obvious?” she said, tilting her head to the side in a disarming manner.
“Hey. I’m a glorified bartender. I see a lot of women come in here crying in their drink, because of some jerk back home.”
“I’m not . . .I’m not crying in my drink,” Jamie said as a flash of anger went through her.
Ricky held out his hands in a pose of surrender. “All I’m saying is that a pretty girl like you either has boyfriend problems, job problems, or daddy issues.”
That made her laugh out loud. She had just taken a drink and had to put her hand to her mouth to keep from spewing liquid in his face. Even then some escaped, and she had to get a napkin to wipe it off.
“Turns out, I have all three,” Jamie said. “My boyfriend and I work together so . . . the job and boyfriend issues go together. The daddy issues would take ten years of therapy to get over, so I just ignore them.”
That caused Ricky to laugh. He leaned in again and reclined his elbow on the bar and rested his head on his left hand.
Jamie’s dad was an astronaut on a one-way trip to the far reaches of the universe. A few years before, she had connected with him for the first time. A story much too complicated to get into with a stranger.
“What’s your name?” he asked, holding out his right hand.
“Jae,” she replied, shaking it firmly. Curly always said to use an alias as close to the real name as possible. She was traveling under the name Jae Chan.
“What do you do?” he asked, obviously good at keeping a conversation moving and also not allowing a pause where the woman could get away. Jamie realized the guy was a player and probably made these same moves on a woman every flight. Didn’t matter. Her guard was already well fortified and in place. A drink and a few slick words wouldn’t fool her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t enjoying the conversation and the attention.
“I’m a chemical supply salesperson,” Jamie said. “For Dupont. Out of Delaware.”
“Very cool.”
Jamie got the impression that if she asked him to recall what she did and who she worked for he couldn’t do it. He had one thing on his mind. Jamie just wondered when he would get around to it.
For nearly two hours, they laughed and joked around. Ricky was funny. Charismatic. He ordered some finger foods that Jamie nibbled on. Interruptions were few. Occasionally, someone came in and ordered a drink. For the most part, the conversation and the drink eased the tension in Jamie.
“How long are you in Korea?” Ricky asked.